


Vicky's Girl

by orphan_account



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone Amnesty
Genre: Amnesty - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, I no longer know how to edit this fic to match canon so hell yeahhhh enjoy the shitshow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Pigeon is Vicky's girl. But, maybe, one day she will be Duck's girl.





	Vicky's Girl

   Everybody knew about Vicky’s girl in the town of Kepler.

   Everybody included Duck too. He actually knew Vicky himself. Well, he had met her a few times here and there. She just kind of barged through, paraded through his quiet office with the rangers, with a hearty smile in tow and big ideas. No wonder she was mayor. She was a remarkable woman, getting on in years.

   Vicky’s girl, of course, was her daughter. It wasn’t until now that Duck realised that Patricia Wilson was Pigeon Wilson because tonight was the only time Duck had ever met Pigeon Wilson. They were about the same age, but Duck had gone through public education but because the Wilsons were a bit more well off, Pigeon had gone through private education. She must have done something in the next town over to for her name of “Patricia” to transform into “Pigeon”.

   Though, it was strange. It was such a small town, but their lives hadn’t bisected until tonight. Life can be weird like that and their lives were only getting weirder. Pigeon was in her mid-twenties. She looked like the type who had just gotten out of college. She hadn't. Duck was a different story. He was quite a few years her senior, over a decade on her, but he never felt old around her. She never felt young around him. It was weird. Maybe its because of how they met. Had it been anywhere else - a grocery store, a library, anywhere but here - then it might be different. But it wasn't and they were glad for that, even if it meant a lot of catch-up on if they had met sooner.

   As for the night, they had met, well, what a wild night it had been. Weird dreams about weird stone archways and weird stories about “super bears”; whatever they were. And it only got weirder and wilder from there with Pigeon and the rest of the gang in tow.

   Up until that moment, Pigeon Wilson was the type of girl whom you knew by reputation and by the mirage of her bedraggled and dirty appearance. Wild and feisty with a temper and tongue for insults and the cheapest bullshit on the pub’s shelves. She wasn’t the type fit for private education, that’s for sure. No wonder she dropped out and picked up a trade instead. She was a welder of all things and an amateur hunter on the weekend; so long as she had her buddy Pete in tow, who was also an amateur hunter but two brains are better than one, or so they say.

   Her buddy whom she would awkwardly insist on being strictly platonic with. An insistence that made Duck wonder because he was getting a vibe from Pigeon. And she was getting a vibe from Duck.

   However, outside of her romantic awkwardness, her natural personality fitted the image of being Vicky’s girl. That was, of course, being brash and bold and obstinate and opinionated something terrible. Pigeon knew she couldn’t sit around and fiddle with the fiddly bits, like saying the right words to the right people, not like her mom could but she could do what she was good at which was work with her hands rather than her uncouth mouth.

   When she had calmed down, by dawn light, Duck saw something in Vicky’s girl and that was her smile. It was exactly what you’d expect of someone carrying Vicky’s blood. It was bright and goofy.

   Pigeon was a godsend in a stressful situation. When she put down the shotgun anyway; she was a terrible aim. She had a way of dealing with her fears which was destructive but helpful. If she was a video game character, like the ones that Duck had seen in the dusty arcade imported from Japan, she would be the one who was a master of the drunken fist style of fighting.

   The enemy can’t predict what you are going to do if you don’t even know what you are going to do.

   She was real different to Duck. And Duck was real different to Pigeon and yet, they had a lot going for them in commonalities once you got past the exterior like loudness and appearance and taste in clothes. Duck would forever revile that toboggan of hers and dingy singlet but Pigeon would tease him over how impeccably dressed he was for a park ranger as there was not a nary wrinkle to be seen in his trouser pleats.

   However, between the two of them there was a lot to be commented on in terms of commonality between their characteristics and the characteristics of birds and each other. Duck was quiet like a pigeon. Pigeon was loud like a duck. Duck preferred muted colours like grey to wear. Pigeon bedecked herself in gaudy greens and vivid vermillion hues whenever she could. There were many musings to be had on the avian topic. Pigeon was an avid bird watcher. So was Duck. They had a lot in common. It was weird.

   As their adventures continued, it became all the more apparent though that they would have each other’s backs through thick and thin. And, he came to long for that in situations outside of monster hunting. He wanted to have Pigeon’s opinions on boring and dull things like taxes, even though she was not a huge fan of math. He wanted Vicky’s girl to be his girl.

   Ducky’s girl?

   Perhaps not.

   It is true that Duck feels a strong kinship with Aubrey and Ned. They were, for lack of a less cheesy term, true companions through and through. What he has with Pigeon is far different. However, at risk of intentionally sounding cheesy, what he had with Pigeon was, well, it was what caused birds of a feather to stick together.

**Author's Note:**

> I will eventually rewrite this fic once we have more information.


End file.
